


Fortunes, Folly, and Vodka

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angels, Brutal Murder, Character Death, Comedy, Complete, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Psychics, Ruscan Focused, Slightly Spamano Focused, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Ivan is conman posing as a psychic in a small all-American town, down on his luck lately. By a heavenly visit of fate, he can suddenly see a ghost. Of course, there's always a catch...





	1. Chapter 1

Ivan flipped the tarot card over, the decorative facing as pretty as it was uninformative. The male across from Ivan yawned, a very bad sign. Time to layer on the charisma. “Oh, the seven of wands reversed, that is most interesting...” He faked surprise, glancing over his client for any tells or hints.

Six foot something suit from a corporate setting with the most bland expression known to man. Probably lived in an ugly cookie cutter house surrounded by thirty other houses just like it. A shiny watch engraved with 'With love forever, Laur' graced one wrist. 'Laur', what kind of a shitty name was that? Did the person seriously run out of money before finishing the name 'Laura'? What kind of cheap fuck was this man?

“I see a woman in your life of great importance, of great importance to you...” Ivan rambled on in his animated 'mystic' voice. The man looked upset, Ivan was obviously striking some sort of chord. Might as well play it until it broke.

“The seven of wands reversed notes you will be reunited with whoever this important woman is, but you will go though trials and tribulations first.” The Russian pressed on, happy to milk the situation. Truth be told, the ash blonde had no clue what cards meant what. He marked the more dramatic looking cards with barely visible ink on one edge. Casinos saw these tricks from 6 miles away, but gullible spiritual types were ignorant of such practices.

“Additionally, the card shows –” Ivan's show was interrupted sharply.

“Just stop it you goddamn fake. Laurence was my boyfriend, and now he's dead. I thought maybe you could contact him, but it's obvious you're full of shit. I'm not paying for this!” The man demanded, now on the verge of tears. With a stand and turn, the man was stomping out of the building. So much for that mark.

Huh. The guy didn't really emit 'gay' to Ivan. Shrugging, he looked at his own watch. It was 6 pm, well past the best trapping times. Housewives with too little brains and too much money stopped at 2 pm. Men with petty concerns about their wives cheating finished at 4 pm. That only left stoners and classic believers, but the dim street outside was empty. Simply no one left to scam for the day.

With a sigh, the conman closed his door and locked it good. Clicking off the many neon business signs, the well built Russian snuffed out the many spooky candles in the room. The work area was purple curtains, stars, and mixed religious references. A perfect stage to go with his act. Behind a curtain, a battered white door hid upstairs apartment access.

Crashing on a beaten leather couch, Ivan lounged in his bachelor apartment. He spent the night counting cards, the same as every other night since he was six. Born and raised of scheming gypsy stock, Ivan was one of the first in the family to settle down. To be fair to the winding roads of life, this was all for _business_. He didn't actually like living in this shit hole of a Pennsylvanian town.

It wasn't the first time he had set up shop, and definitely not the last time he would flee the state. Sometimes things just got too hot. Honestly, scamming stupid white people was easier and safer than making a living off poker.

It was true, His baby sister Natalya was a wealthy modern day noble in Belarus. His big sister was selling 'organic diet supplements' in the Ukraine last time they got in touch. But the big difference was the difference of jail times. His sisters had stayed iron clad to their gypsy heritage, never settling or stopping... Never long enough to fabricate alibis when police inevitably dropped by. They had three times as much jail time as Ivan individually, including more serious charges. Ivan's history was by no means clean, but it was no more than two years and a few gang tattoos. Nothing Ivan couldn't hide with a dark tee shirt.

Thought of his dearest sisters in prison made the Russian's heart squirm with anxiety. He turned on the TV in the living room to distract himself. Almost everything about the room was stolen, right down to the sun blocking curtains. The only honest aspect in Ivan's life so far was a love for adventure and the rent.

Settling on a trash psychic show called 'Spirits of the Dessert', Ivan like to take notes of what lured fresh marks in, and kept them coming. As some idiot prayed to forces unseen in New Mexico, The phone rang. It was the aging landlady, a crone that could have been a great gypsy. Her rent was almost twice as much as competitors, but she never ran criminal record checks.

“Hello Miss Wang.” Ivan answered politely.

“Aiya! You are day late with rent!” The ancient Chinese woman screeched over the phone.

“I sent you the cheque days ago.” Ivan insisted, brows furrowed.

“It bounce like rubber ball! You get me cash in two days, or you out!” The elder ordered coldly in thick Mandarin accent. She abruptly hung up, but Ivan could only smile. In a distant platonic way he really loved that woman. She had seen his prison tattoos of the Fallen Angel gang on numerous occasions but was completely unconcerned. That was classy of the old coot.

Still, Ivan had to cough up some rent. He leaned forward and dug through the small heap of wallets acquired this week. With no regard for photos or sentiment, the petty Russian dumped them all onto the coffee table in a sizable loot pile. Credit cards and ID were basically a waste of time these days, since the police listened in on people's phones. The real money was old school cheques and cold hard cash.

A practised student of fraud, the ash blond could forge almost any signature on a cheque. It kept the government running in circles for weeks. All the while, Ivan dined in moderate luxury. The trick was to take just enough each time, not enough to interest the IRA.

Still, for all the man's devious efforts, there was barely $300 in this pile. He still need roughly $400 more and he was out of fancy watches to bring to the pawn shop. Yet another problem to heap on Ivan's plate. Another problem for _tomorrow_. After munching on reheated street food from the previous day, Ivan drifted into soft slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

The afterlife was a tricky thing. There was so many religions, languages, and creeds of people. To keep things simple, everyone generally went to the same place. From the most pious to the cruel, every human had the same chances. Even the most vile and hateful people were stripped down to their remaining pleasant aspects and reborn into the material realm. Another go to make things right, as well as a spiritual recycling system.

Every person saw the afterlife differently, with many layers of energy to choose from. This second in the universe, the angel Romano was peering into a reflecting pool. In calm ripples, the mystic waters revealed a snoozing Russian slob on his ugly stolen couch. “Disgusting!” The brunette cursed, his tiny pink cupid wings fluttering in irritation.

“How can you be sad in Heaven, my spicy tomato?” Antonio crooned as he sipped his fifth glass of wine. Clad in golden armour, the once human Spaniard had large white wings tipped in yet more gold. Gesturing to the rich Mediterranean landscape around his white and blue adobe house, the tanned man continued speaking. “All the wine and olives a man could ever thirst for.”

“You're a drunk piece of crap Antonio. You eat olives like Hercules all day and don't do fuck all! That greasy Slavic turd is who you are supposed guard and prepare for heaven! We both know he's not getting in like this. This wait and see system doesn't work. For heaven's sake, he hasn't even found true love yet!” The hot headed cupid ranted in rapid fire Italian.

“I stopped him from getting murdered in prison. I'm _great_ at my job. Not everything is about love, Romano.” the tanned Spaniard pointed out, spilling a bit of wine in the process.

“Everything is about love! Love is important!” Romano snapped, slapping the wine glass out of his friend's hand. The cup paused in mid-air, not spilling a drop.

Antonio ruffled his shorter co-worker's hair, then grabbed the gaudy goblet and continued drinking. “You are so cute when you're angry, my tomato.” The Italian huffed at his dramatic motion being nullified, and looked back in the reflecting pool after a few steps. A slight frown dragged his tan boyish features.

“What can I do that would make you happy? Cupids shouldn't be sad.” The bulkier angel offered, still not moving off his plush lounger seat.

“We need to fix this sack of trash you have for a charge before he dies. He needs to find love! Love will definitely redeem him. We need _change_.” Romano ordered with crossed arms, about as intimidating as a bouquet of flowers.

Antonio stood, finally, and declared “We do need change. I'll have craft beer instead of wine today.”

“You idiot! I have to do everything myself!” the cupid huffed, leaving the house in a hurry. Hopping in his cherry red sports car, the hot headed angel took off for the archival offices. He wasn't truly an angel however, in heaven it was more of a title. Since true angels were unable to breed, most of them had been killed in god wars or ascended to management positions. Only the most thoroughly pure of heart soul worked in heaven, given jobs tailored to their skills.

In life Romano had been the son of an ailing Italian billionaire. Inheriting the family business, he steered it away from mafia involvement, all the while sleeping with girls from Portugal to Ukraine. The periodically charming man had been surprised he was the offered job of cupid after post-death orientation, taking it with both hands.

Romano wasn't proud he had died pushing a child out of the path of traffic. Apparently his lesser act of martyrdom at the tender age of twenty five had been what sealed the deal. Hey, things could be so much worse. The vain Italian still got to wear all his designer clothes. Helping people find love was quite fun too.

A terrible driver since he was seven, Romano just left his car on the lawn with the keys in the ignition. No one stole cars in heaven, so it was hardly a risky manoeuvre. A muscular world war two soldier in freshly ironed military uniform stood watch over the door. It was a gold studded double door to the grand roman temple of a building.

If it wasn't for the black mighty angel wings, the blond guard would look like a time lost relic. This guy was just the absolute worst in the cupid's mind, for so many reasons. Walking up the glittering steps, the asshole called out in a German accent thicker than mayonnaise. “Halt! State your name and rank!”

“Listen here you blue eyed potato bitch! I come into here every week for work, and you damn well know who I am!” The fiery brunette exploded, dealing with this same routine every single time.

“I didn't hear your name and rank.” Ludwig insisted coolly, tapping a finger on the wooden hilt of his rifle.

With an irritated snarl, Romano replied “Romano, cupid class.”

“What is the nature of your visit to the lost souls archive?” the German soldier continued, probably enjoying this under his stony expression.

“Don't make me do this you asshole. I need to do cupid stuff.” Romano threatened.

“Please define 'Cupid stuff' more clearly.” The blond soldier replied, clearly in no rush.

“Make lost souls fall in love you great big Germanic moron! Lives are at stake!” the brunette explained with clenched fists.

The soldier was unmoved by the passionate display, looking almost bored. “Ja, that is all well and good, but you will have to fill in these archive access forms. Turn them into me, then wait the mandatory 48 hours for processing. Then you may enter the premises for a regulation time of forty minutes with maximum efficiency. During your 48 hour wait, I can provide you with complimentary books on time management skills.” A stack of papers was produced from nothing, placed with care in Romano's rather weak arms.

Romano's eye twitched. “I am not waiting 48 hours to fetch one file, for a case I'm doing today.”

“Do you want to submit a complaint about the quality of my services?” the other offered blandly, his W's dragging into clear V's.

“Yes, because you suck!” Romano cursed. His tirade of frustrated Italian curses was cut off before it could begin.

“Then you need to fill in these forms, which cannot be processed at the same time as these first forms. It would be a conflict of resolution.” Ludwig went on casually.

Romano's air head of a brother, Feliciano, had also gained employment in heaven after dying of a freak heart attack. The goofball of a twin was an angel of mercy, drawn to the vulnerable or young in suffering. The oblivious man's cheer simply couldn't be squelched, and he adored just about everything.

With a swoop of fluffy white wings, the other Italian landed and folded up his wings. “Hello Romano! Hello Luddie! Would you like a flower crown?” Feli greeted happy, his sacred priest clothes as white and pure as his wings.

“No I want to get in this stupid building and do my job.” Romano bickered.

“I like flower crowns.” the cold guard volunteered, his demeanour warming up in an instant.

“Now you get two!” The silly Italian sibling crooned, placing both crowns on top of the guard's helmet. 

Flustered and blushing, the German took off his helmet and wore the oversized loops of flowers as necklaces. “Danke, I... made you a present too.” A small cupcake with yellow frosting was presented.

“That looks so sweet! Thank you!” Feli replied joyously. “Can I go in just a moment?”

“Ja, you can.” the severe blond moron said, disgustingly love struck.

With a kiss on both cheeks, the bubbly man skipped inside. “He gets to walk in and I have to fill in a form?” Romano complained, dumping the many forms on the ground in a huff.

“No littering.” The stern guard warned.

After, Romano grumbled and cursed while picking up every single page. His obliviously cheerful brother left the building after several minutes, skipping as he went. “Oh brother, I picked out that file you were looking for.” the serene fool offered, a scroll in hand.

“How the heaven did you know what I needed?” Romano asked curiously.

“I sense what those in suffering need.” The brother answered knowingly, with that smile of his. 

Romano grumbled and took the scroll. “Don't you have kittens to save or something?” he retorted, less cruel than normal.

“No, but I can give you hugs!” Feliciano offered cheerfully, giving his sibling no choice in the manner.

Romano wriggled free, flipping off Ludwig and dumping the forms on the ground. The guard seemed unmoved, making the forms vanish with a snap of his fingers. He then resumed guarding his post with unflinching force of will.

Leaning against his expensive car, Romano unrolled the scroll and browsed its contents. It was the life history of some sad sack called Matthew Lawrence Kirkland. The guy had been dead for twelve years. That wasn't super promising, people that had gone ghost were usually insane when they died, or committed suicide. Still, the divining waters at Antonio's house had shown this was the ideal love match for that Ivan fellow. Challenge accepted.


	3. Chapter 3

The world was darkness and shades of grey. Cold and foggy. The lost soul wandered as he always had, no joy to wash colour over his barren world. Matthew could dimly register living humans and buildings, but never acknowledged them. They couldn't see him anyway. Matthew was aware he was dead, but he wasn't sure if it had been five seconds or five centuries ago. Everything was too dim and stifled to register in his emotional loop of rejected existence.

“Hey! Sad guy! Over here!” a crisp voice called out of the dark. The ghost tried to follow it, but his legs felt too cold and heavy to move. “W-w-where... are...” He tried to talk, but the drifts of grey despair muffled any expression. A cocky looking brunette appeared in the fog, whisking away the clouds of depression with a hand. The grey cloudy world became slightly sharper in contrast and detail.

The man was vivid colour and Gucci accessories, sporting a shiny haircut that probably cost a hundred dollars when Matthew was still alive. He had a powerful aura of white to pink light, the first light Matthew could remember. “You are degraded to shit aren't you?” the stranger commented dryly.

Without warning, the living being of colours forced his hand into Matthew's chest. The ghost stumbled back and gasped, the touch like skittering electricity. He had forgotten what human touch was too, it seemed.

Cupping a grey ethereal heart in his pink skinned hands, the guy shook his head. Tracing a finger down a scar on the organ, the bright being sighed “Yep. Suicide. You just had to make this harder didn't you?”

Matthew had nothing to say in response. He didn't remember much beyond walking into traffic, drowning in grief after a bad breakup. He didn't even know what street it was he died on. The ghost was patted on the shoulder. “Incoming.” the other man warned flatly, shoving the heart back inside.

It was a vivid shock, followed by warmth and... love. Matthew's heart gave a single beat as he blushed, becoming more defined and lightly washed with colour. “Are you an angel?” Matthew asked in wonder, finally able to string sentences together.

“Bitch, _yes_. Come on, I need to get shit moving before you fade on me.” the magic stranger replied vainly, somehow equally benevolent and self absorbed. Matthew wondered at those pale pink angel wings as he was dragged along. The world was still largely dark and isolated, but Matthew felt significantly less depressed and shattered.

Matthew found himself dragged through a cheesy looking psychic's shop and up some stairs. Both of them passed through the triple locked door like it was smoke. It was a grungy little apartment, somewhat spartan in it's furnishings. A mostly fit fellow in day old clothes was soundly asleep on a couch that had seen better days.

“See this idiot here? He's totally your new best bud. Follow him, float bowls and lamps around him. Do what you gotta do.” the angel ordered sharply. Matthew walked over to the living human and touched his shoulder, but the gesture went through like it was mist.

“He won't see me. No one does.” Matthew whispered, unused to speaking.

“Right, I'll see to that with –” The pink angel's words and movement were stopped at the tip of a mighty sword. A heroic looking being in golden armour had instantly appeared, great golden flecked wings unfurled. The celestial creature cast a radiance that lit up the whole grey washed room.

A booming voice spoke from the being, echoing through out Matthew's fragile soul. “Who dares disturb the sacred body of this man?”

“If you took off that stupid helmet, you'd know it was me.” The pink angel retorted to the golden one.

The mythic being flipped up the visor of his archaic helmet. His inhuman voice become pleasant and exceedingly Spanish. “Oh hello my little tomato! I didn't know you worked this area.”

“Not normally. I need to epiphany this guy.” the 'little tomato' man gestured to the sleeping human he was half standing in.

“I can't allow that. You know why.” the golden one dismissed.

“Come on, I'd owe you big.” the smaller angel offered, as sincere as manure.

“You have to wear a maid costume. I'll epiphany him then.” the shining knight replied after a minute, grinning cruelly.

The pink winged angel huffed and growled any number of unpleasant curses. Ruddy with red anger, he clearly earned his nickname. “Fine. But I'm only wearing it for a day.”

“Yay!” the armoured champion cheered, betraying his powerful imagery. As the smaller angel stepped aside, the glittering celestial warrior stood at the sleeping man's side. “One spiritual awakening, coming up!” he cheered. He then slapped the human with a golden gauntlet so hard even Matthew winced.


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan woke up suddenly, wrenched from pleasant dreams of money. He jolted awake so violently he rolled and fell on the floor, landing on his back. The strangely cold air was knocked out of his lungs. His brain felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. Strange, since the ash blond hadn't visited the burlesque bar down the street recently.

Judge Judy was playing on the still live television, but the screen was flickering like mad. Without warning, the cable died, defaulting to a no-signal screen. Just another thing he had to steal to fix. Getting up, Ivan rubbed a sore shoulder. Flicking on some lights, he stumbled into the cramped blue bathroom.

His face looked okay, and not smashed in by construction tools. So... Ivan was mysteriously hungover by nothing. Just great. Washing down a few painkillers, he splashed water on his face. Stepping out into the main room, Ivan paused fearfully.

There was a watery shape of a man, barely out of his teens, standing in the middle of his television set. Ivan wasn't an idiot. He had been raised in eastern European gypsy culture, soaked it into his bones. It was a society riddled with tales of superstitions and death.

“Gho-o-ost.” He sputtered, flattening against the wall. A small part of him was somewhat disappointed Ivan wasn't braver, but the rest of his mind wanted to scream.

The entity turned to look at him, as timid as Ivan was scared. “You can see me?” The ghost whispered, his voice nearly lost to washed out sounds of traffic. It walked closer, Making Ivan's skin prickle from the cold. “Can... You hear me?” It asked reverently, pale purple or maybe blue eyes looking through him. It was hard to tell with the spirit washed out by electric light. “Can you... feel me?” The young adult breathed, placing an icy palm on Ivan's broad shoulder.

The conman yelped at the touch, retreating to the bathroom, and slammed the door shut. Heart racing, he wrung his hands anxiously. After ten minutes, nothing came after him. Creaking the door open, Ivan peered into the room. No ghost. Good. It was probably just him losing his mind.

Another problem to add to his plate. Checking every space and nook, Ivan found no more ghosts or unpleasant spirits floating about. To be on the safe side, the man tossed on a family amulet carved from horse bones almost a century before. It was considered an anti-vampire charm, hand carved by his great grandmother Vavara. It might work on ghosts too.

Piling on another colourful quilt, Ivan hid under the blankets and eventually fell asleep again. It was only two in the morning and he needed solid rest before a new day. There was far too many fat wallets, and equally fat cops about, to be of dull reflexes.

When morning came, Ivan woke up to an unpleasant cold breeze under his three quilts. It was like winter itself standing near, but not actively trying to kill him. Dreading what he might see, the Russian crawled out of his comfy shelter. There that ghost was, just standing and staring out the window. His form was largely invisible in sunlight, but translucent and grey all the same. What a creep!

Ignoring this phenomena the best he could, the man took a shower as quickly as possible and dressed in the bathroom. No ghost was seeing Ivan Braginski's five star body, at least not for free. Did ghosts have money? Could ghosts be used to break into vaults and safes? Maybe. If this dead guy didn't leave Ivan's apartment after a few days of being ignored, the free loader was going to be put to good dishonest work.

Breakfast was a bowl of kasha just like dear Mama used to make. Ivan chowed down on seeds, buckwheat, berries, and other delights in a mixed porridge. The ghost watched with interest, following Ivan's every move. The only place the Russian was given privacy was on the toilet, but even he was above eating food in a bathroom.

Soon fed and ready to harvest wallets, Ivan dressed the part of victim. Goofy tourist shirt and fanny pack was topped off with cheesy sun glasses. If Ivan used his fresh-off-the-boat Russian accent from a few years ago, he could pose as a tourist from Bulgaria or Moldova. Some place unimportant and easily mistaken for another.

Most people didn't know where that was, or what a Bulgarian even looked like. Anything not quintessentially American was instant reduced to a stupid 1960's stereotype of a Slavic man in a ushanka riding a polar pear, saluting a statue of Stalin somewhere.

This blatant cultural discrimination made Ivan's job even easier. Police couldn't exactly round up every 'suspicious foreign man' the second a pocket was picked. The law enforcement was so uneducated here even German couples were under the same label as Ivan's ilk. It was sickly humorous to be truthful.

Not even at his target area yet, Ivan had already slipped several twenty dollar bills from a distracted woman on the bus. Helping a busy wife with her groceries along the path, her unobservant husband's phone and a driver's license was also liberated into Ivan's nimble hands.

This whole getting haunted business could almost be tolerable if not for the constant bitching. Every victim he eyed, an unimpressed huff could be heard. Every object swiped, there was disapproving comments and muffled complaints.

After hitting up the local corn festival, Ivan's usual joy for the job faltered. This accursed ghost was simply ruining everything magically wonderful about stealing and mischief. A block from home, the secretly impatient man couldn't take it anymore. With a turn of feet and a stomp, Ivan roared “Can you _please_ shut up you useless cow!?

Both the ghost and the elderly woman he was standing in wore the same shocked expression. “Well I never met a young man so rude!” the hag dismissed coldly, turning and walking away. The ghost only began to smile. Oh no.

“You can hear me! That's so nice. I've been so lonely.” the young adult rambled, walking closer and clutching Ivan's arm. The sensation was cold and unpleasant. “Don't touch me.” Ivan hissed out of anxious fear. Could this ghost steal souls or possess people? Why was there so many kinds of ghosts in legend?

“Oh, okay. I'm... I'm so sorry. I've been alone so long I... I'm so sorry!” The ghost whimpered, about to burst into tears. Ivan cursed internally. It seemed even fake ghost tears could sway his normally stony heart. “Just... shut up and stop crying. You're making a scene!” Ivan insisted, looking around. People were staring at Ivan like he was crazy. _He_ was the one making a scene it seemed.

Returning to the apartment, Ivan was followed by his depressing new shadow. Sitting on the couch, the large man dumped three wallets, and seven smart phones on the table. Roughly $100 in loose cash was set aside as Ivan started dumping all the wallets empty.

“So why are you following me Mr. Ghost?” Ivan asked casually as he worked.

“My name is Matthew, and the angel said I was supposed to follow you.” The wavering figure replied, barely above outside traffic in volume.

Ivan paused, looking up at the spirit doubtfully. His circumstances only seemed to grow more ridiculous as the day progressed. “Angels now?” He sighed.

“Yes, he said we would be friends. And I'm... I'm so lonely.” The ghost explained, looking ready to weep yet again.

“Don't... don't _cry_ on me. Just calm down Marcus.” Ivan grumbled, looking away at the sight.

“Matthew.” the translucent figure corrected.

“Matvey, whatever.” Ivan shot back.

“Close enough, It's been so long since I had a conversation... I'm so... happy.” Matthew admitted, his emotions more unstable than ever.

“Can't you go bother – I mean, talk to anyone else?” The pale Russian asked as he resumed searching his loot pile on the table. Practically nothing here, just fantastic.

“N-n-no, I can only see and talk to you.” the ghost replied with a stammer.

Sighing, he pushed the random ID cards in a heap with the older ones. More to burn at the end of the week. Still at least $250 short rent it seemed. With a sly smirk, Ivan looked to his latest burden as it floated before him. Maybe the lost soul could be of some use...


	5. Chapter 5

The blue and white adobe house was quite busy today as angel Antonio left the kitchen of his stylish home. Bearing two large trays of mini quiches, he called out “Who likes tiny pie things and beer?” Several angels argued loudly in his living room, several of them raising a hand at the offer. Beers appeared floating in mid air for the various attendants to grab.

“This isn't a social get together, it's a serious moral debate idiot!” Romano blasted at him from across the room.

“Be kind Romano, alcohol makes moral dilemmas easier to solve.” Francis teased, having hit the wine since he first set foot inside. He was a cupid like Romano, with paler larger wings. Equally as vain, the Adonis of a blond was also dressed in only the finest international fashions.

“Have a tiny egg pie. Made it myself.” Antonio offered, shoving one in Romano's open complaining mouth. After coughing a little, the brunette cupid chewed and swallowed. His flash of anger changed to pleasant surprise. “Those are damn good quiches Tony.”

The Spaniard was so used to being called an asshole, or an idiot, or many variants of these. To actually hear his name being used at all, in a cute shortened format as well, was truly a gift. “You are too cute today!” he cooed, setting down trays to pinch Romano's cheeks.

Romano growled vaguely threatening things, but his blatant blush screamed otherwise. “Shut up moron.” he snapped at Francis as the blonde smiled knowingly.

“I didn't say anything.” the french man replied, feigning absolute innocence.

“And you're not going to. Let's see if the debate has progressed any.” Romano ordered, exchanging the briefest of affectionate expression with Antonio before hauling himself off a plush chaise lounger. Francis followed with a refreshed glass of wine and a rosy smile.

The centre of the room was packed with activity as celestial beings bickered. The decision to love match a ghost and a living person together had been considered highly controversial, making waves in many social circles. Antonio, seeking any excuse to feed people spicy food, invited anyone and everyone to his sprawling Mediterranean home.

“This pairing is unusual, and cruel.” Roderich, a blue winged angel of inspiration, declared.

“I think it's creative. The ghost will be there to guide them through the post death process.” A lively Elizabeth disagreed, ruffling might black wings like Ludwig's.

She was a battle angel, an upgraded variety of the white and gold guardian angels. Guardian angels were assigned to a one person at a time, watching over them until they died. Battle angels were assigned more general tasks such as guarding locations or ensuring the safety of public events among the living. Once upon an eternity, the battle angels had solely been females called Valkyries. Gender equality for male workers gradually dissolved the Valkyrie class to become more accessible.

Feli and Lilli were the last to arrive, walking in the door as a slightly inebriated Ludwig said “Roderich is right. They can't... have relations until the living one dies. It also invalidates the whole point of dying, so they can meet new people in the next life.”

“It's not about always about sex. You're totez a perv Luddie.” Feliks, another equally stylish cupid dismissed with a swish of perfect blonde locks. Romano wasn't jealous of his ultra secret hair care routine. Not at all. Germany blushed crimson at the implications, but said nothing as he drained the rest of his beer stein.

“Excuse me...” Small Lilli mumbled as she nudged through crowds. Barely at Antonio's hip in height, she tapped his leg. The girl was a recently minted angel of mercy, wearing snowy white wings and pale green maiden's dress. “I brought spinach dip. I felt you needed some.” she offered sweetly.

“I think we're...” the tanned Spaniard looked over at the snack table. The spinach dip bowl was indeed empty. “Why thank you Lilli, you can put it on the table there.”

“Okay.” the girl replied. Vash, her former guardian angel, was at the other end of the room watching silently. Antonio didn't judge. He knew from his first cases that it was hard to completely let go of someone you had guarded since they were born. After a century, he was finally mastering the art of detached yet sincere affection.

Still the 'debate' raged on as a very drunk Hercules, another blue winged inspiration angel, randomly summoned a baglamas and started playing ancient love songs.

With a crack of lightning, everyone jumped away from the now destroyed coffee table. Glossy black wings folded back, revealing the most powerful of the veteran battle angels. It was Tino, the very first 'Male Valkyrie'. The cuddly snowy blonde was a fallen Varangian warrior, deadly with almost every gun and sword up to the 1900's. He had specialized in collecting the souls of fallen soldiers since ancient times.

Of course Tino was well aware of the times. Old school family crest and viking weapons were replaced by death metal shirts and a dangerous looking hockey stick. “Oh, I'm sorry I wrecked your coffee table Antonio. I had to rush here after collecting fallen rebels in the Congo. I brought salmiakki. I made it myself!”

The black salty treat stunk something powerful, making most retreat. Berwald, a tall guardian angel with glasses and a glare to kill, casually grabbed and ate some. “Mmm. Good,” the radiant giant of a man grunted.

“Hola Tino! It's fine. Just put the um... _snacks_ on the table.” Antonio dismissed, not daring to get close to the foul dish.

Berwald carried off the bowl of questionable delights, munching on them as he headed to the table. Tino smiled, speaking rather bluntly. “I did come here on serious matters though.”

The entire room murmured looking around. Was the powerful spectre of death here to collect someone or demote them? It had certainly occurred before, maybe only five times in the last one thousand years. “Oh no, I'm not here for any of you, goodness. I'm here to weight in on the love match issue with Ivan Braginsky.” the literal angel of death informed pleasantly.

“What of it?” Romano stepped forward, ready to defend his case yet again.

“Nothing actually, I don't care who or what he dates... I'm scheduled to collect his soul in 74 days after a horrible fight. There was a mix up, you know how administration is. He wasn't supposed to be on the available matches list.” the Finnish warrior replied casually, as if Romano's most intriguing case to date was mistake. It wasn't! Romano was perfect and didn't make mistakes!

“I thought you would like to know, so you can do your... cupid stuff in a known time frame. Oh is that spinach dip?” The death metal garbed angel became instantly distracted, migrating to the snack table.

“74 days!? That's not enough time!” The hot headed Italian protested, genuinely flustered. It was easily one of his tightest schedules yet. True love took time to grow and harvest, it wasn't like a blow job in a night club bathroom.

Tino shrugged as he heaped salmon salad and German pretzels with mustard on a plate. “It's not my call, I just do collections.”

Cursing more than ever, the cupid stomped out of the party. He was absolutely determined to prove everyone wrong. Romano never ever made mistakes as a match maker!


	6. Chapter 6

Life with his new ghostly companion was making things unbearably difficult to get by. There was reasons beyond no longer having privacy, and being followed _constantly_. Matthew was such a goody good that Ivan couldn't so much as steal food from vending machines without hearing about it for days. Matthew was certainly innocent, and sweet, in his own sort of way. If only the dead young adult had a weaker moral compass.

It was a rainy Sunday night as Ivan sulked under quilts on the couch. It had been two weeks since he had been able to con anyone or steal things from stores. Matthew simply couldn't let things be! This last attempt had been the Russian's most desperate, a few wallets and a phone. Not enough for anything, and cops were staring to become less lax.

Miss Wang had stopped by and taken Ivan's television set as retribution for being $75 behind on rent. That hardly bothered Ivan, since he had stolen it off another man that had taken it off the back of a truck illegally. It was the complete and total contempt the old woman now held for him that was troubling. It had taken years to cultivate being on a first name basis with her. Now Ivan was back to 'You' like he was an insect.

“Are you mad?” Matthew whispered, icy touch felt through both colourful quilts.

“Yes. I am mad.” Ivan answered curtly.

“Can you get by without stealing? It can't be that hard.”

The casual suggestion raised Ivan's ire. He flung the covers off in anger. “Who do you think I am Matvey? I'm not some grain fed system cow that can just walk into a job and get it. I'm an illegal Russian gypsy that lives with no citizenship! I have years in prison for gang crimes! I can't walk into a bank and get a loan for my rent like magic!”

The storm of words broke the ghost to tears. “I-I-I'm so sorry, I just didn't know why... There was plenty of stuff you could take that doesn't... belong to anyone... But I'm sorry if I'm not bad ass enough... and...” The words broke into open sobbing and nonsense.

“Just... Please stop. What stuff are you talking about?” Ivan huffed, feeling pangs of guilt like icicles.

It took a solid ten minutes for the suicidal ghost to calm down enough to make sense. Even then, the words were slurred by crushing tears. Impatience and impulsiveness were traits Ivan typically had trained out of him, but they popped up today.

Concentrating on the intangible cold thing before him, Ivan slowly lowered a hand on Matthew's misty shoulder. Feel the shoulder, the skin, the bone, the fabric. Maybe, just maybe, this psychic bullshit was actually real for once. Maybe something was real for once. In that fraction of a second, of actual belief...

Ivan's hand made contact with the ghost's surprisingly dense body and squeezed vague comfort. The unending despair that oozed from Matthew stopped, He looked at his shoulder with wide eyed shock. Ivan let go, feeling exhausted from the effort.

The ghost hugged him after, but not him exactly. Like Matthew was interacting with some thin vaporous insides of Ivan's body. It chilled him to the bone every time like an unpleasant static jolt. Too weak to stop the attention, Ivan sank back onto the couch. He felt like he could sleep for a century now.

With a long blink, Ivan was surprised. Did Matthew seemed to be slightly more colourful? No. That was insane. Matthew, however, seemed to carry hesitant joy in his movements. “But... I see buried stuff all the time. We could go dig up treasure tomorrow.” he offered with a weak smile.

Ivan nodded sleepily, laying down. “Ha yes, make a date of it.” he mumbled drunkenly in Russian, passing out cold. Muggy dreams of a pink light blob and a yellow blob arguing in Spanish floated by, as if through dirty water. The darkness of rest swallowed him whole.

00000

“This experiment is getting dangerous. He pulled his own soul out.” Antonio argued, betraying his typical calm. The glittering angel was currently holding Ivan's soul in the body with one hand. The other hand was weaving strands of golden light, the equivalent of spiritual rope, around the human anchor point. He already knew the quick fix wasn't going to last long.

On a different frequency of existence, Antonio and Romano were invisible to Matthew. Looking more flush with false life, Matthew was tentatively cuddling Ivan's warm body. He often did that when the grouchy Slav was resting, desperate to feel more.

“I don't see how the idiot almost killing himself is my fault!” Romano replied sharply.

“It's all your cupid stuff!” The taller Spaniard accused, gesturing at the scant space between ghost and living human. Romano squinted as he peered between his subjects, then grinned. Sure enough, there was the thinnest connection spanning from Ivan's currently struggling soul to Matthew's resting blue. It was a thin strand of a connection, an equal desire for friendship from both participants. The very human need for connectivity had braided it into a tiny yet strong thread even Antonio's holy blade couldn't cut.

“It took! A bond took! Look! Look at how fresh it looks! I didn't think it would work this well!” Romano cheered in absolute joy, skipping and fluttering around the crappy apartment. The creation of fresh love always made the Italian so happy and smug.

“Why. Can't. You. Stay. Inside!” Antonio grunted in frustration, restraining Ivan's soul as it started tearing the ropes.

“They were together before, his soul remembers it. I didn't think the idiot would react this badly though.” Romano admitted sheepishly, watching the much stronger guardian angel struggle.

“Can't you do something!?” Antonio asked, finally locking the surprisingly mighty human soul in an arm bar against the couch. Ivan's smoky violet soul sure as heaven wasn't going down without a fight, cursing at his protector in a variety of Slavic languages.

“We need... a conduit or... fuck I don't know. One doesn't have a body to meet the other, so... I guess its trying to kill itself to make up the difference?” the Italian brunette offered weakly, not the best under pressure.

Without warning, Antonio ripped a stream of conscious thought from the angry soul's brain area, and handed it to a shocked cupid. “Weave this into the bond, I don't know if I can hold this fella down for long.”

“We can't just _do_ dream links you crazy bastard! That's completely against the rules!” Romano sputtered, holding the yarn-like strand at arms distance like it was a stinky fish. Dream links were dangerous things, connecting two minds together in sleep. It was third most extreme form of treatment they had access to, almost impossible to remove.

“I refuse to have a job die early on me. That's going to be on my record for literally a million years.” Antonio said seriously, not playing games anymore as Ivan's soul managed wriggle an arm free and lash out.

With shaking hands, Romano nervously nodded and braided the dream link into the shared desire for friendship. It had to be done or Ivan's premature death was on the cupid's hands. The moment the process was finished, Ivan's angry demon of a spirit sank back into it's assigned body. Already, Matthew's blue aura and Ivan's deep purple started harmonizing in colour. With a loud huff of exhaustion, Antonio climbed off the guy and wiped his brow.

“That guy's soul is tough! I think I had to try a little there.” Antonio joked, then turned somewhat sombre. “We are going to be in so much trouble for this.”

Romano couldn't help but agree.

00000

Ivan woke from his sudden nap, feeling like death warmed over. “What... happened?” He groaned, sitting up. The living area looked the same, though it was now the middle of the night. Ever present, Matthew sat with crossed legs on the floor, his eyes a distinguishable shade of lavender today

“I don't know. You yelled at me, then you patted me on the shoulder because you felt guilty. Then you went a funny colour and passed out.” the ghost explained, looking more visually crisp than usual.

“I didn't feel guilty.” Ivan denied instantly. He had felt extremely guilty at the time. Still did to be honest. Ivan hated seeing tears, especially ones he had caused. Ones caused by property loss were, of course, the exception to the rule.

“Just before you passed out, I was talking about free stuff you didn't have to steal.” Matthew continued speaking where he left off. Ivan's interest perked, his attention now fully on the apparition. “There's a field outside of town I used to wander through, it had all kinds of things buried in it from a long time ago. Some of it must be valuable, right?”

Ivan nodded upon hearing all this. He stood stiffly and stretched, then slipped worn running shoes on. “Alright. I'm going to get the car, and we can investigate the place.”

“You have a car?” the ghost wondered, floating behind. That tone of intrigue dropped to disdain once Ivan had selected his ride for the day. As the pale man tugged leather gloves and a hat on, Matthew grumbled. Ivan specifically ignored this as he put on a hat and tucked his shaggy platinum hair away.

“If you're going to sulk all day, can you be look out?” Ivan replied tiredly.

“But why can't you _not_ steal?” Matthew complained.

“If I return the car to this spot, will you shut up about it?” Ivan offered, not wanting to hear about this for three days straight.

The ghost hesitated, then nodded. Good grief, this pesky spirit was going to make an honest man out of Ivan at this rate. The idea was horrifying. Breaking into the old Impala was an easy task, along with hot wiring it to life. The drive was a quiet one as Matthew pathetically tried to focus and turn on the radio.

“I know I can get it!” He whispered in frustration, pawing a ghostly hand through the device. 

“I'm so sure.” Ivan replied sarcastically. After a minute, the entire car stalled and stopped suddenly, making Ivan's face slam into the wheel. His nose broke with a small crack. “Aaarrrgh not again! Fuck!” he hissed in pain as blood went everywhere. Just great, more evidence to implicate him in the vehicle theft.

Getting out of the car, Ivan grabbed his theft tool bag. Using the bag as a lumpy pillow, He lay in the dark soft grass of country night. After resetting his throbbing nose with a yelp of pain, the man lay there and let pain wrack his skull. A dim orange glow started bathing the area, washing the dirt road and grass in golden shades of brown.

“Thank you for the light Matvey.” Ivan groaned, squinting in the direction of his ghostly companion.

“The car is setting on fire! How did this happen?” Matthew shouted in alarm, floating before the vehicle. Sure enough, hot flames were licking the inside of the car as a thin trail of smoke escaped an open window. The surreal scene made Ivan burst into laughter despite the slight head trauma.

“How can you be laughing!? There is a stolen car, on fire, where everyone can see!” the ghost continued anxiously.

“Matvey, you can't die from fires. You're a ghost.” Ivan snickered. The apparition stopped his panicked flailing, shy once again. “This is just a lovely roadside fire, there is no one here but us.”

With this assurance, the troubled spirit calmed and sat inside Ivan's torso. It was a cold sensation he had never enjoyed, but dealt with it. It was just another weird thing to happen, in a series of unusual things. Feeling cold at night when he slept, no matter how many blankets there was. Pink and yellow blobs arguing in his dreams. The rather sexually explicit dream Ivan had before waking up earlier was certainly something. Never once had Ivan even thought of doing such things with women, let alone with men.

Hiding a burning blush under nosebleed splatter, Ivan silently watched the fire for a time. Soon the pounding head trauma lessened to a dull throb.

“I guess we can't return the car.” Matthew joked lightly, not nagging Ivan for once.

“Da. Nothing can go more wrong anyway.” Ivan sighed.


	7. Chapter 7

Matthew whistled as he worked. Well, whistling was about as relative as the claim of working. Matthew had actually practised whistling over a week to regain the ability, since he technically didn't need to breathe. The 'working' was wandering around town and looking for random buried goodies.

With a new means of side income Ivan seemed less grouchy. It was true, the classic conman couldn't be completely dissuaded from his crooked ways. People going to psychics for opinions on the obvious was really begging to be scammed though. In that regard, Matthew left Ivan alone to work.

It was the pickpocket activity that pissed the blond ghost off. Hazy fragments of his childhood confirmed he was a boy scout for years. If the memories were real, it certainly made sense. All the same, the long dead adult couldn't be certain what was real.

Trying to remember the past beyond emotions was like looking through dirty water. Hints of camping with other boys in scout uniform. A brother named Alfred. Some guy named Carlos. None of it connected well. Even older scraps occasionally shifted to his mind. A far away place across the sea. Ivan, but somehow old and dry looking like preserved fruit. Maybe different, but only a little. It was all so confusing.

Matthew shook his head, returning to the present. He looked down at the barely visible line of energy coming out of his body. It had been around for two months now, and Matthew couldn't happier. It always led back to Ivan. The beefy bear of a man was the one thing that made the dead nineteen year old feel alive and humming with something. Something warm and eerily familiar.

Spotting a bunch of old coins buried in the park, Matthew floating style bolted home. Phasing through walls and people, he took no time at all travelling the grey scale world choking with fog. Some unusual paused his journey. It was a black winged figure, well defined and coloured in the mist of death. Not afraid of dying for obvious reasons, Matthew drifted closer to investigate.

It was a very approachable looking man in full death metal gear with a mean hockey stick. Impressive glossy wings like those of a raven sprouted from his back. “Hello!” Matthew greeted, more curious than cautious.

“Hello Matthew!” the winged being greeted, looking up from a super official looking clip board.

“I feel like a celebrity... Are you an angel too?” Matthew joked, feeling oddly comfortable around this stranger. If it wasn't for the bond tying him to Ivan, he very well might follow the death metal angel away to parts unknown.

With an affectionate ruffle of Matthew's hair, the magical man replied. “Yes I'm an angel. I'm actually here to assess collections ahead of time. You see right... there?”

Matthew looked down from his position in midair. The edgy looking angel gestured to a dirty grey alleyway strewn with trash below. “Yeah?”

“A man is going to die there in... roughly thirty hours. It's my job to pick up souls and bring them where they need to go. I could take you with me to heaven, if you want. You don't belong on this plane anymore.” he offered happily.

A surprisingly easy yes almost slipped out with a breath. Matthew could feel the pull, the urge to move on like once before. He had been too wrapped in suicidal thought to answer the call years ago. That cord of feeling tugged him back to Ivan's side just a little harder.

“I can't... I have... I need more time, but can I call you later?” Matthew weakly responded, floating back just a bit.

“Unfinished business, as I understand. Have you seen any other lost souls that want to go home?” the benevolent angel answered patiently, handing him a golden business card. That funny yet honeyed tone made the ghost want to curl up the mysterious angel's arms. It wouldn't be as nice as sitting inside Ivan when he was sleeping though.

There was just something so endearingly familiar about his pet gypsy, like a forgotten touch or scent. It was wordless but there. It drove the young ghost a little crazy sometimes. “There's a guy down the street that was just mugged. His spirit is being gross and bleeding everywhere.”

“Thank you Matthew! See you soon!” The winged celestial crooned, flapping away at invisible speeds without warning.

'See you soon', what the hell did that mean? Matthew couldn't die _again_ , he was already dead. Dismissing the odd wording, he followed the psychic life line to his real home. Ivan was downstairs in his tourist trap business, absently flipping tarots for some fool. Matthew left him alone until he was finished.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” the older woman rambled, leaving with a great big grin minutes later. Matthew entered the room, wrapping and partially merging himself with Ivan's body. It wasn't his physical frame, but that strange aura all living creatures possessed. It was a warm purplish thing to be tangled in, making the ghost want to melt from comfort. Ivan and his wonderful aura were the only things with colour or heat at all, making him the best spiritual hug magnet.

“Hello Matvey.” Ivan greeted genially, dropping his tarot cards and shivering once from the interaction.

“I found more stuff we can dig up for money.” Matthew whispered, searching for any little crevice in Ivan's soul to explore more. Ah yes, one place left. He entered it, feeling so warm content, like a rich bubble bath or a sunny day.

Ivan yelped and jumped out of his chair, almost falling over. “Matvey! Don't... don't do whatever that was again!” he squeaked, blushing like a tomato. Matthew smiled demurely, an ethereal devil with endless curiosity some days.

“What did you find?” the Russian asked, still looking quite rosy.

“Some old coins and a tool box. There was books inside the tool box.” Matthew replied, once more behaving himself and floating several metres away. The rest of the evening, if it was evening at all, went by non eventfully. As a ghost, Matthew had no grasp of time as his world drowned in shadows. Except for Ivan, bright warm Ivan with his soft royal purple soul.

As Ivan ate dinner and washed dishes upstairs, Matthew amused himself with stray soap bubbles. He sometimes had enough force of will to move them. However, such ability was rare. The only things he could interact with otherwise was water, other ghosts, and Ivan's spirit. Even with water, he could only make it ripple weakly.

_I'm not supposed to be here._

It was a thought Matthew had often, a primal urge that tugged at him. He wasn't supposed to be dead, or at least dead this long. Ever since the angry pink angel had whisked away suffocating depression, the idea of moving on had burned brightly in Matthew's mind. Still, something held him back.

Ivan. Matthew just needed to be near him, memorize his face. Frosty pale hair that refused to behave in high humidity. Pink skin like washed out roses, scarred from a lifetime of adventures. Broad muscular frame like a warrior, fitted into a variety of snug shirts. Shirts Matthew wished he could be. This attraction was perverse somewhere probably. But he still didn't want to let go, ever.

Ivan's apparently busy day was winding down to the same end as it always had for the past two months. Counting out the ill-gotten gains of the day, and watching trash television. Truth be told, Matthew had never been into watching television when he was alive. It still applied now. Bored, the ghost ruffled Ivan's hair... or tried.

It mostly drifted through his body to be honest. “That tickles, Matvey.” Ivan said, absently brushing off the ghostly appendage with no effect.

“Did you do well today at work?” Matthew asked, settling next to Ivan on the couch.

“Yes. We've been both working so hard, that I decided we get a day off tomorrow.” Ivan answered with a small smile.

“Really?” the ghost eagerly responded, sinking through the couch from excitement slightly.

“This psychic stuff obviously isn't total bullshit. I'm roommates with a ghost. So I thought I'd follow my gut feelings more often. Maybe something good will come of it.” Ivan explained proudly. Matthew perked up at the possibility of his pet gypsy becoming a better person, but it wasn't to last. “Maybe it'll make us more money!” The childish Russian added gleefully, rubbing his hands together.

“Of course.” Matthew sighed.

“Don't be so sad Matvey. Tomorrow we will have a town adventure. We can visit wherever you want.” Ivan cheered, scrunching a moment in concentration to pat the spirit on the back. The very solid contact was warm with some static, making Matthew waver from joy. It was the only sensation he directly felt since being bound by the odd thread between them. There was a whole _day_ of potentially more touches and sweet little smiles tomorrow.

“It'll be fun.” The spirit agreed heartily.


	8. Chapter 8

Ivan woke up the next morning slowly. Early sunlight crept in a window, landing at his feet. Matthew was also at his feet, much like a faithful dog. A dog that nagged him constantly when he stole from errant pockets or tip jars. So, not a dog at all. “Good morning Vanya.” the dead blonde greeted with a happy grin.

“Morning Matvey.” Ivan grumbled tiredly, squinting at the brightness of coming day.

“You got excited in your sleep again.” Matthew snickered, a glimmer of mischief in his possibly lavender eyes.

Ivan untangled the three quilts he was under, inspecting them as he went. All clean so far. Kicking them off, he sat up on the rumpled couch. Sure enough, his colourful boxers were a mess. There was an array of cum splatters inside, both dry and fresh. Ivan cringed in blushing shame. This was not a new discovery. He had been waking up every morning like this for weeks.

It was nice to wake up feeling so fantastic everyday, but his undergarment population was suffering greatly. The cruel part of it all was never remembering what he had dreamed about. It would be nice to understand what he was extremely turned on by.

“I think it's getting worse!” he complained vocally as he waddled to the bathroom. Not bothering to close the door, he started inching off the disgusting boxers. Ivan's sense of privacy was long dead after only a week of living with Matthew. The ghost was crushingly lonely for almost a month, never out of eyesight of Ivan. Never daring to miss a potential touch or conversation.

“I don't see what's wrong. It just means you had a happy sleep.” Matthew commented, now poking his face through the shower tiles.

“When it happens every night, it's weird Matvey.” Ivan disagreed with a derisive eye roll. “Now get out of the shower so I can wash. I feel disgusting.” Finally given space, the tall man lazily scrubbed soapy circles as he showered. The idea of Matthew causing wet dreams came up, but was dismissed. The guy was dead, and a classic white knight. Even if he could do something, which he couldn't, he definitely wouldn't.

After toaster waffles for breakfast with butter, Ivan was dressed for adventure. It was almost the same as dressing for work, but he wasn't dripping with random astrological symbols. Of course, the very minute he stepped onto the street, it began raining. Still, the stubborn Russian was not to be deterred.

It was a gut feeling that gripped Ivan, almost a need to be somewhere. The only other two times he ever felt like this, he experienced important moments. The first had been leaving his family caravan behind to join a Belorussian circus troop. Those had been the best years of his life. The other moment of apparent destiny had been losing his virginity to an extremely skilled florist in Moldova. Clearly, this intuitive moment was not to be ignored. What fabulous wealth and power could be gained from following through on his hunch?

Ivan ducked into a local business stuffed with customers. It was a classy English pub, complete with dangerously unsupervised coat racks. Taking a random raincoat, he then strolled out of the place like he owned it.

“You promised no more random stealing!” Matthew fumed, floating behind him.

“This was selective stealing. I clearly had a purpose for it.” Ivan replied playfully.

“It's still stealing!”

“Do you want me to get hypothermia from being cold and wet Matvey?” the living man pouted childishly.

“No... but...” Matthew faltered, looking away a moment.

“So it's okay to take it!” Ivan finished, victorious.

“You could at least leave some money for it!” the blonde spirit complained, trailing behind in the pouring rain.

The two went to various locations in town. They saw gardens and monuments but still Matthew only looked at the world with impassive blank expression. Ivan only wanted to see the other smile at something not in direct relation to the Russian, but it was not to be. Technically Matthew was a ghost from commiting suicide in traffic, but he could be at least a little happy. Was the beauty of life so unappealing to the deceased nineteen year old?

Panting after many sets of stairs, they were on the top floor of the tallest department store in town. Ivan thought the view of the town was rather striking. A vista of cute houses spanning out into greenery and farmland. “Matvey, isn't it a lovely view?”

The ghost looked out, mostly transparent in the electric lights of the windowed hall. “I don't see anything Vanya. It looks like all the other places.” 

Frustrated, Ivan walked off in a huff. His long black raincoat flapped behind him. “What's the matter?” Matthew replied in concern, floating after him just fine.

“It's nothing!” Ivan hissed. It was everything. The continual despair he could feel pouring off his ghost companion seemed completely incurable. It wasn't even true depression at this point, but a feeling of deep resignation. Matthew was acting like he had to be at a super important business meeting, but he was unable to leave. It drove Ivan up the wall with unanswerable questions.

“It's something. Come on, you can tell me.” Matthew insisted. Pawing a grab through Ivan in an attempt of consolation, the man instead shivered. It wasn't cold anymore, it just felt really unnatural. Like the solidified sensation from a cat sitting on your chest, without weight. It seemed to scramble Ivan's fickle emotions just as effectively these days. Damn it all to getting attached.

Still. He had to tell Matthew something, or bear being affectionately nagged all day. “I've got this need. This... gut feeling, and I need to be somewhere, but I don't know where.” Ivan admitted in a minute of honesty.

“I understand. Why don't you try clearing your mind, maybe the location will come to you. We could just walk around.” Matthew suggested softly, drifting close and beginning to cling again.

“I did that. So far all I'm getting is a lot of exercise.” Ivan replied, shivering a little from the contact. It frazzled him every time.

“What if I do this?” the ghost drifted through Ivan, making electric hot contact with something tangible within. It was just a fraction of a second, but too long all the same.

It was a jarring event, making Ivan gasp and stumble back. “Don't... do that again.” he wheezed, feeling his body go hot with blush. After a minute, Ivan's heart stopped racing and fluttering with unknown yearning.

“Sorry. Thought I could help.” the spirit whispered, looking again at the floor in despondency.

“No, It's fine. Let's walk around a bit more.” Ivan dismissed, embarrassed. After a lunch of frozen waffles cooked from home, Ivan found himself in an unknown alleyway in the far south of town. It was seedy area that he normally avoided. It was then that Ivan saw what he longed for.

Clothes lines laden with drying laundry spanned between the aging brick buildings, for the rain had finally stopped. A bright green blanket fluttered in the weak breeze, brighter than the rest. It was a spiritual sign and nothing else. Ivan needed that blanket. If fate told him that blanket was important, he was going to get it.

“Matvey, I need that blanket!” Ivan ordered, on a mission.

“We're stealing laundry now?” The ghost retorted.

“Don't give me attitude Matvey! Fate has told me I need it and I won't be stopped!” Ivan chastised, now searching for a way to climb up.

“What... Why are you listening to fate now?” Matthew asked quizzically.

Ivan paused his determined quest, shucking off the hot raincoat. “The last time I listened, I had the best sex of my life in the back of a truck. It is always worth listening to fate.”

“If you get this blanket, you might have truck sex?” the ghost asked to open air, completely confused.

Ivan dragged his hand through his hair in exasperation. “Nyet! Well, maybe. But that is not important. I will get rewarded somehow so... wiggle the clothespins off or something.”

“I don't know... stealing is wrong, and you already took a jacket...” Matthew fretted.

“I'll leave the coat in exchange.” Ivan interrupted. Crime was so hard to commit with his gloomy moral compass around.

“But the coat didn't belong to you to begin with.”

“You are being so difficult!”

Finally, Matthew gave slack. “Okay! Okay! Just... leave the coat, and stop yelling. It hurts my feelings.” The barely visible spirit flew upwards, then started messing with the clothespins. It took a while, but Matthew managed to make one pop off from a snap of high pressured plastic. The green blanket now hung by one corner, slipping off the line from it's own weight. Ivan caught it as the last pin popped off.

“Yes!” Ivan cheered in victory. Rolling the small fluffy blanket into a tube shape, he stuffed it under one arm. “Matvey, we have done it! Now soon I will get my reward!”

“One more cover on the couch doesn't seem worth walking all this way. Wherever we are.” Matthew noted, glancing around.

Ivan's happy mood drooped at the astute observation. Where _were_ they anyway? “I am... sure we will find a main road soon.” he stated with false confidence. It was an hour later, and they had ended up even farther from home than before. Nearly on the edge of town, only crumbling structures of the old light bulb factory remained. Wandering the vast decrepit complexes to get out of the burning sun, Ivan sat on an abandoned milk crate. “Okay. I will admit we are lost.”

Matthew let out a stifled laugh. “Only just now?”

“I didn't know town was so big! I blame the bad street planning.” Ivan denied, pride hurt.

They quieted as Ivan checked his phone. Matthew absently sat beside him, cuddling an arm. In such close proximity to the ghost, the cheap device was done for. The cracked screen flickered violently, then went black. Ivan rolled his eyes and tossed the thing over a shoulder. It was a good thing he had stolen so many phones this year. He was burning through one every few days.

In the desolate silence of the abandoned factory, there was a unique kind of serenity. A sound was heard in the distance, almost human sounding. Ivan stopped slouching, standing to listen. “You hear that?” 

Matthew turn to face the same direction. “I do.”

Columns of light came in through dirty yellow windows, showing the way to the source of noise. There was dozens of dirty needles alongside garbage in a small room. All too familiar to Ivan, who had been a bit of a vagabond his whole life. “People were shooting up here.” Ivan mentioned as he walked carefully around the mess. There was a soggy cardboard box on top of the trash pile. When Ivan's boot kicked a bottle, the glass clattered against the graffiti covered wall.

The most distinctive sound in the world responded from the box. The weakened cry of a baby. Ivan picked around the garbage and leaned over the box. It was a very young baby, with a tan complexion. It reached out with tiny arms, bawling it's heart out as it lay in soiled clothes.

“Ditya! Little baby! Do not cry!” Ivan hushed in a panic, not knowing what to do with his free hand.

“Someone left a baby in here!” Matthew babbled, not the best under pressure.

“Da! I know!” Ivan snapped. Taking a deep breath, he held the green blanket between his legs and delicately peeled the ruined clothes off the child. The miserable baby girl cried further as he used half his bottled water to clean shit off of her. Passably clean, she was swaddled in the green blanket. It was the perfect size for the job, suitably fluffy.

“See Matvey? Fate told to me to take this blanket, and I was given a little baby as a reward! The system clearly works.” Ivan replied, smug as ever.

“The universe, or whatever, didn't just _give_ you a baby! She belongs to someone. Where did you even get that water, or the granola bars from earlier?” Matthew criticized in his usual way.

“Stole it.” Ivan replied simply, as the child drank water desperately. “Are you thirsty little baby? Yes you are!”

“What did you just promise about stealing for rest of the day? You aren't even asking around to see where the mother is.” The ghost railed on, well-meaning harpy that he was.

Ivan stood, new prize swaddled in his arms. “Fine. I will ask.” he stepped out into the vast echoing ruins of the factory. “Hello! Bad parents! Come get your little baby!” The hollering echoed, then faded to nothing in the concrete cathedral of a place. “See? The baby was in the garbage. Nobody owns garbage. So now she's my baby.”

“You can't... We have to take her to the hospital. She's not your daughter.” Matthew objected as Ivan proudly walked along.

“I will name her... Nadia. I will teach her how to steal motorcycles, and pick locks. I will be the best father of all the fathers.” Ivan continued as he walked out of the factory. Matthew groaned but gave up for now, following behind the stubborn Russian.

It took two more hours to get near home. The baby, now cuddled and clean, passed out cold in Ivan's arms. Truth be told, he had no clue what to do next. No matter what the outcome, Ivan wasn't going to let the young girl simply die in a factory like a starving rat. 'Nadia' he corrected himself. All little miracles needed names after all.

At long last, he was almost home. Within sight range of the psychic shop downstairs, Ivan's long mission seemed at an end. Miss Wang was guarding the door like an angry dragon, her petite elderly frame a deception. Upon spotting Ivan on the sidewalk, she came in for attack.

“Where you go! You late on rent!” she greeted in her usual way, a living ball of fury with greying hair.

“Hello Miss Wang.” Ivan greeted politely.

“Where is rent? Why you so lazy bringing money! Why you...” Her angry tirade was cut off upon seeing the young Nadia, wide eyed and curious. “Oh... Hello little baby... you so precious...” her uncharacteristically soft coos turned back to usual sharpness. “Where you steal baby? Hospital?” Miss Wang hissed in blunt accusation.

“I found _Nadia_ in the garbage, so I took her home. I'm going to be her papa.” Ivan replied proudly, puffing his chest out.

He was promptly hit in the face with a rolled up newspaper, despite his landlady being much shorter. “Ayah! You stupid! Not how parenting work! I will take baby, see if parents looking for her.” Miss Wang ordered.

“No. I want to keep her safe. She is so little and cute.” Ivan repeated sternly, standing his ground. Nadia looked up at him with big blue eyes, obliviously adorable. Miss Wang rubbed her temples, then looked upwards as if heaven would offer guidance.

“She stay here, only until we find real parent. But I make inspection now. Apartment be very clean for baby!” the cranky Chinese woman agreed reluctantly.

In no time at all Ivan was being strong armed into cleaning his own apartment by a dictator of a landlady. As the elder cradled the baby in her arms and fed it formula mix, Ivan was worked into the ground. He occasionally took breaks to relax and play with Nadia. Mostly she gripped his large pale fingers and gurgled. Of course, Miss Wang would hit him with the newspaper until he resumed cleaning.

“All you own is crap! Take out garbage. Make room bigger for baby to crawl in.” She ordered sharply, sipping a mix drink powerful enough to clear sinuses. The relic was probably preserved into immortality by pickled food, alcohol, and spite. The baby mostly laid on the couch and randomly squeezed her green blanket reverently.

“Da, da, I will.” Ivan muttered, hoisting a large black bag of trash over a shoulder. It was now the evening, the sun sinking into the far off unknown. As expected, the dumpsters out back were full to the brim and then some. With a grumble, he headed a block over. It was another dumpster, in a narrow alleyway. It was a trash strewn hole of a place, but the garbage had to go somewhere. Matthew appeared suddenly at his side, oozing fear and terror.

“Vanya please, please you gotta leave this alley.” he begged openly.

“I am throwing out the trash Matvey, not fighting a bear.” Ivan scoffed, never slowing.

“Please! Steal whatever you want! I don't care! You just have to leave this place right now!” Matthew bargained frantically.

Ivan paused and put down the trash bags. “Look Matvey. I know I may have been... impatient today with you. But this display is not needed. We are still good friends, now and forever, okay?”

“VANYA! PLEASE! Just move before he sees you!” The ghost yelled, for the first time in a while.

“Who?” the Russian asked, mystified. The question was answered very quickly.

“Hey! Hands up! Give me your money!” A rough voice demanded behind him. Ivan turned sharply, spotting a ragged man. His skin was gaunt and riddled with scars, with a stormy unfocused gaze to match. A drug user, probably crashing from a high. Possibly the most dangerous type of human being to exist. In trembling hands, a highly modified .22 calibre pistol was aimed at Ivan's centre of mass. Dropping the trash bag out of pure surprise, it landed on the dirty cement with a crackle of plastic.

“Okay! Okay! Getting my money.” Ivan answered tightly, making slow movements. Addicts were easy to spook after all, and this was hardly a new type of encounter. Retrieving his wallet, Ivan opened it up. There was nothing except a condom wrapper edge from the burlesque bar down the road. The rest was stolen ID cards and air.

“I don't have any money.” Ivan replied, suppressing how scared he was. Addicts could sense fear, much like feral dogs.

The mugger stepped closer now, a few metres away. “I don't believe you! Give me your money!” The grip on the gun steadied, now pointed at Ivan's face.

“I don't... I don't have any.” Ivan repeated in a tiny voice, his brave act falling apart. This was the closest yet he had ever been to getting shot. He would have to be clever, witty even, to get out of -

_**BANG** _

The sound was heard before anything else. Deafening and unstoppable, just like the bullet ripping through his body. Ivan barely heard the other two shots, ears ringing. This was so much worse than when he was stabbed in that Bulgarian prison. It bled and stung and burned, a terrible volcano of pain in his body. Coughing up blood, the startled Russian fell to his knees in growing shock.

The addict's eyes grew wide in fear of his own act. It seemed he was aware enough to know this was happening. “Fuck, fuck! Fuck!” the mugger swore, looking ready to throw up. Impulsively throwing the weapon away, he paled and ran.

Matthew had desperately tried to push the mugger away to no effect, his misty form too weak. Now the spirit sat at Ivan's side with great big watery tears. “I'm so sorry! I should have said something, but I didn't realize until it was too late. I'm sorry!”

“What...” Ivan coughed, vision swimming in pain.

“I love you Vanya. I should have said it sooner but I was so scared! I love you so much. Before you die...” The ghost babbled, entangling himself in Ivan. It was a hot sensation now, when it used to be cold. That electric feeling from before came tenfold, washing his senses of all terror and agony. It took over every sense, hijacked all his attention.

It was lust and carnal delight, pure and blinding. Ivan was soaring as he bled out in bloody gasps. “Tricky... Matvey...” The words were hard to choke out as Ivan drowned in his own blood, harder than he'd ever been before. Just as Ivan was about to pass out, a powerful orgasm ripped through him. With a strangled sigh of pleasure, Ivan succumbed to his wounds.

The world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the end yet folks!


	9. Chapter 9

Tino was surprised he was asked to deliver the latest batch of souls in person. Normally he dropped off anywhere from twelve to a hundred for the collections management to deal with. The ancient celestial warrior had suspected something would come up though.

After over fifty easy captures of ghosts that day, Tino had the the most difficult battle. It was a spirit bound to a common gypsy, the fresh soul of an interesting purple colour. He had been firmly attached to a ghost with the most sloppy dream link ever seen. The second the link was severed out of pity, both established ghost and and recently killed man absolutely lost it.

While the paler ghost started sobbing like it was a competitive sport, the slain man's soul attacked Tino. It was an unexpected reaction, for most souls loved Tino out of principal. It was how the Valkyrie trained Varangian had been taught to work.

Bonded souls could be so _difficult_ to separate when the time came. Still, they usually came as a pair of lovers. Not this religiously estranged conman and a ghost without an anchor. Still, Tino finished his job as expected. Though he now sported a bruise from being socked in the jaw by the dead Slav gypsy.

Tino arrived the afterlife with a flap of his glossy black wings. Landing roughly in a grassy field, Tino took note of the neutral setting. It was a commonly used environment for welcoming the recently slain. Not far away was a brilliant figure of light and joy. Even by angel standards, it was difficult to look at in its magnificence.

Bowing deeply until even his mighty dark wings dropped in respect, Tino squinted and shielded his eyes. “Your holiness, I would greet you properly, but I wouldn't be able to see.” Tino offered apologetically.

“Oh I forgot my manners!” the being of pure burning light replied cheerfully, condensing itself into a lesser form. It was an eclectically dressed young man, laden with both an accent and handmade clothes that hadn't been in fashion for at least two centuries. He had once been a Romanian knight that died for lord and piety, a classic candidate to work in heaven. He no longer had wings as a manager, not needing them to travel between the planes of existence.

“Your holiness, I brought the soul you requested.” Tino replied, standing to open his all black messenger bag studded with band pins.

“Please, Viktor is just fine.” The holy creature teased, giving a small flip of his shaggy reddish brown hair. He was known to be one of the less serious managers for this universe.

Plucking the rather angry purple dot of spirit out of the bag, Tino carefully handed it over in cupped hands. “Be careful my lord. He's a fighter.”

“Oh he _is_. Did he come in a set? These types always come in a matching set.” Viktor said, as if he were talking about collectible salt and pepper shakers.

“He was bonded to...” Tino answered, slicking his tongue out a moment as he dug around his stuffed bag. “This one here. Matthew, I think he was called.”

“Oh! Let me see!” the ever powerful Viktor cooed, accepting the other soul. “Adorable, just adorable. Okay let's do this.” Placing the vulnerable souls together in the field. He gently blew on the souls as if they were embers. Tino watched in interest as they grew like actual flames into two well defined people. The process was one rarely seen, for souls usually went back out as fast as they came in.

One was the gypsy, an ash blonde that would have been a great warrior back in Tino's day. Dressed in a traditional white shirt embroidered with red and blue, the man snoozed on the soft green grass. Beside him was a teenager, or possibly a young adult. The fellow was all pale skin and freckles, dressed in a unbuttoned red flannel shirt. Beneath that was a Nirvana band shirt in stark black. Ah, a 1990's child.

“Oh and one more thing.” Viktor chimed, snapping his fingers. He was now in a suave modern day business suit. A leather wallet materialized in his hand, stuffed with random currencies. Putting it in a pocket, the Romanian grinned. “Now the stage is set!”

“But... we don't need modern money in Valhalla.” Tino objected, confused.

“Shush!” Viktor dismissed, gesturing to the slumbering pair on the grass. They began to stir. The taller one stretched and sat up with a large yawn, then curiously sniffed his fresh white shirt. Tino smiled. He remember first waking up like this, in the arms of a beautiful Valkyrie. His shirt had too been a fresh soapy smell.

Shaking his younger companion awake, Ivan spotted Viktor and Tino. “Hello.” he greeted with a wave.

“Hello Ivan, welcome to the afterlife.” The celestial Romanian greeted. Matthew woke up with several groggy blinks.

Upon seeing his friend, Matthew burst into emotion. “Vanya! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” The anxious display of concern was sweetly touching to Tino. Love was a nice thing to see, of any kind.

Ivan merely looked amused, letting the other cuddle and curl up in his lap. “I'm fine Matvey, look.”

Seeing Tino and his manager, the shy wheaten blonde waved. “Hey.”

“I'm in the afterlife, apparently.” Ivan replied, quite calm. “I'm glad I'm not burning in christian hell.”

“Did I die again? I was already dead! Is that possible!?”

It was extremely funny that the already dead ghost was taking the news worse than his recently killed friend. Still, Tino stifled a laugh and said. “Actually, hell is a myth. Something to keep people in line. We're all about being up to date in the afterlife.”

“What do I do now that I'm dead?” Ivan asked.

“Anything you like! You earned a rest.” Viktor explained.

“Oh thank you! I thought I was going to be alone on earth forever!” Matthew thanked the two celestial beings profusely with hugs. Ivan also stood and shook both their hands, smiling wide with white teeth no longer stained by cigarettes. In all the motion and distractions, Tino could have sworn Ivan grabbed his wrist lightly.

“We're going to explore now, if that's okay.” Ivan asked rather sweetly, taking Matthew's hand.

“Of course. Go ahead.” Viktor waved goodbye as they ran off giggling. After a moment of taking in the heart melting scene, Tino looked down at his bag. It was missing three band pins. A leather wrist band was also missing.

“That thieving little troll!” The death metal angel hissed, inky dark wings fluffing up in anger.

“He also stole my wallet and gold wrist watch, but it's okay.” Viktor replied, not angry in the slightest.

“He stole from a lesser god in Valhalla! He will face retribution and my blade!” Tino threatened, drawing his hockey stick from it's back holster.

“Now, now. Did you need any of the things he took?” Viktor asked calmly, putting a hand on the black dressed angel's shoulder.

“No.”

“So what's the harm?”

Tino sighed, and sheathed his weapon. “None. But if this was a job interview, it would be extremely disrespectful.”

“Who said it wasn't?” his manager teased, smirking mischievously. The impish Romanian walked over, plucking bits of fluff from the grass. They had been pressed into the ground where Ivan and Matthew formed only minutes before. Upon closer inspection, they were fluffy feather fragments. Some were light absorbing black, and others were bright white.

Genuinely surprised, the Varangian warrior silenced.


	10. Chapter 10

“Where are we going?” Matthew asked, easily keeping up with Ivan. As they dipped into the low of a grassy hill, they spotted bushes lining the edge of a small forest.

“I don't know but I need distance. I want to check what I have.” Ivan huffed, dodging behind the lush green bushes.

“What you... Did you steal from God?” Matthew accused, with that mothering glare of his.

“That wimp is _not_ God Matvey. God, if he even exists, is probably a burning ball of light. Or a concept that wears sunglasses. Something anyway, not that suit wearing midget. What kind of god would carry a wallet or wear a watch?” Ivan ranted as he dumped his newly acquired goods on the forest floor.

What a nice pile of treasure! A beautiful watch of gold, a nice leather wallet, some interesting music band pins. Ivan's natural instinct to take them had been right and good, just like all the other times he liberated things from unaware people.

“We are going back right this second and returning this stuff, mister!” Matthew ordered, giving a little stomp of emphasis.

“No. I need this stuff for... I just need it okay?” Ivan denied, unable to to understand his own motivations.

Matthew released his tense posture, sitting to cuddle Ivan's side. “Is this like the green blanket again?”

“I think so... _Nadia_... I need to make she's okay.” the Russian breathed, gathering all the things in a panic. His motions were stopped by a gentle touch.

“Vanya, what can you really do? We're dead and stuck in the afterlife. Besides, we left her with your land lady. You know, the one that actually knows how to feed and care for babies.” Matthew reasoned. Ivan stopped his actions, defeated by logic. He hated how right his companion was. You couldn't take care of a baby if you were dead.

“I would have been a terrible Papa.” Ivan admitted, slouching and resting his head on open hands.

“No... Maybe... But you would have given her a lot of love. Even if she did end up in prison.” Matthew comforted him poorly, his side hug transferring into soothing back rubs.

“No. She would have never been in prison. You would have haunted me to my grave about it.”

Matthew blushed a little. “I mean, if you want me to go away now...”

Ivan shook his head, wrapping an arm around Matthew. The much younger man was lightweight and easy to trap while shrinking away. “No. I'm going to keep you forever, and ever, and haunt you for eternity.” the ash blonde teased.

“I don't know if a ghost can haunt another ghost Vanya. I'm sure that's two ghosts hanging out... doing ghost stuff, I guess. But hardly a haunting.” Matthew pointed out, clinging like static to the offered touches.

“Ghost stuff like admitting love, and wrecking ten pairs of boxers?” Ivan commented dryly, perking a brow. Matthew's guilty blush intensified to a rich red. “The only thing I'm mad about is you didn't say anything sooner.”

“What?” the younger man blurted out, somewhat shocked.

“I did enjoy your company, even if you made a _slightly_ honest man out of me.” Ivan said quietly.

“You... You would have been okay with us doing stuff together? I was dead. Living people just don't do stuff with dead people. It's weird.” Matthew was incredulous about the news, sitting up straight to be near eye level.

“What is weird or normal? Who defined these things?” Ivan challenged, looking Matthew hard in the eye.

“I don't know.” the other man answered honestly. They sat together in the verdant forest, cuddled before Ivan's latest pile of ill-gained treasures. Birds sang in exchanged greetings, while wind tickled rustling tree canopies. This place really was marvellous.

“Vanya... Are you gay?” Matthew asked timidly.

The question was unexpected. “No, but... I... I don't know.” Ivan admitted. Did straight people have dreams of questionable relations with their roommate, who was also dead at the time?

Turning to face Ivan properly, Matthew gave a nervous smile. “Would you kiss me?”

Ivan hesitated, not sure what to say. He looked to Matthew, scratching his neck idly. _Something_ had to be said or done. He couldn't leave the poor bastard hanging like this. What could you say to such an absurd question? “I... I um...” Fail, a massive word failure. Since words seemed to be a waste of time, Ivan opted for grabbing the offered hand. Judging by Matthews's despairing reaction, this was not a wise choice.

“Matvey, stay. I'm not mad. Just give me a minute.” Ivan finally managed, not letting Matthew escape and do anything stupid.

“It's fine. I just assumed, and we were roommates...” the distressed young adult rambled, trying and failing to escape Ivan's strong arms. All this anxiety was getting to Ivan and scrambling his brain. He needed to resolve the problem before it ballooned out of control.

The idea of being obnoxiously homosexual wasn't terribly appealing. The types that dressed loudly, and talked louder. Like they were emperors of the world, entitled to everything. Ivan knew the truth, that the world was an open road where everything was subject to change. The very concept of permanent ownership was foolish. Ivan wasn't a thief, only helping time move forward.

“I'm not gay. I'm... into ghosts with terrible moral compasses.” Ivan said finally, thoroughly in unknown territory now.

Matthew paused and blushed as he was dragged into Ivan's lap. “Oh, is that all.” He teased, daring a glance upwards with hooded lavender eyes. Such pretty long lashes, all details previously lost to his ghost form.

“That's all, and... maybe I have a fun time with you.” Ivan replied, insides fluttering with electric energy.

“Do you?”

“I do.” Ivan answered, not hesitating for once. Matthew locked eyes with him, smiling sweetly. Lips parting barely, a breath of anticipation between them. Curiosity reigned over fear of the unknown. With a final long gaze, Ivan impulsively pressed his lips to Matthew's.

It was slightly dry but soft, not unlike the many fine women Ivan had been with. It was very pleasant. Definitely worth another scientific sample, or three. With a small gasp and a smile, Matthew straddled and pressed the envelope a little farther. Ivan's heart hammered as his head was held softly. Another kiss, this time with tongue. It brushed Ivan's palette, making him shiver. Holding Matthew close, Ivan kissed back equally hungrily. What a wonderful discovery this was.

00000

“Yes! I told you! I won the bet! Next karaoke, I pick the songs!” Romano whooped in victory, spilling cheddar popcorn on the designer glass table before him. It was a focus for remote viewing, as well as a flashy looking coffee table. The now cheese powder marred surface showed Ivan and Matthew going at each other like horny teens in a forest, clothing loosened and being stripped off.

“No, they fell in love after dying. The bet said up to the death bed stage.” Francis argued, slightly drunk as he narrowly avoid spilling his glass of red wine. “So I win, and I get to pick the karaoke songs.”

“He never said if they were both dead for the bet to count.” Heracles pointed out, turning the viewing table off so he could pick the cheesy snacks off.

“Omigosh, that's so gross. He watches porn on that.” Feliks whined, button nose wrinkled in disgust.

“It doesn't make the food taste different.” The blue winged Greek shrugged, now with a hand full of cheesy popcorn to call his own.

“You're all savages... So who had bets on when they have sex?” Elizabeth asked as she walked into the room with several beers to share. Her colourful battle maiden's dress was in sharp contrast to her black wings.

Romano shook his head. “ _Animals_.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I can't believe you!” Matthew chastised, as he dragged a rusty boat anchor out of the bathroom. “Why would you steal a boat anchor?”

“I needed it for stuff.” A very hungover Ivan slurred, shirtless and sleepy on the living room floor. Gleaming white wings flecked with silver were on his back, blending in seamlessly with his platinum fluffs of body hair.

The new limbs of travel were a shock to discover for both men. The moment they both decided to for a tour of Germany, Ivan suddenly sprouted beautiful wings and flew to earth without thought. Purely out of reaction, Matthew had chased him down on his own black wings. It was so strange, like the angelic limbs had been part of both of them since forever. Still, randomly moulting feathers was annoying.

Upon realizing he was technically a servant of god's will, Ivan lost all common sense. Engaging in the worst stealing and drinking spree of Matthew's recent memory, the gypsy went on a bender around the world. It had taken everything to keep up with him.

Matthew wanted to be mad, he really wanted to be. Everything kept turning out so well for the handsome Slav. The stolen truck full of water bottles Ivan crashed in the desert ended up saving a dozen lost people about to die. The mobile fruit cart rolled down a hill for fun pushed a child out of oncoming traffic. The wallet stolen from God was lost in England during a round of shots. It ended up saving a family from homelessness when they picked it off the road, alongside the two vodka bottles that had started this mess.

The most surprising event was in the middle of a sandy war zone. Ivan, still absolutely tanked, had crash landed in a bombed out clay house. Hearing a spray of distant gunfire, Matthew raised his glossy dark wings out of instinct, forming a feathery shield for most of the room. For some reason, he simply wasn't afraid as bullets bounced off his celestial body. It tickled slightly, if nothing else.

Ivan was fine, but several pairs of eyes were now glued to his every move. A large family had been hiding in here it seemed, emerging from behind turned over furniture. A maternal looking figure in ragged clothes approached, clutching a christian cross to her chest. She was babbling something in a foreign language, tears of joy on her time wrinkled face.

Shy and not knowing what to do, Matthew picked up Ivan and bolted into the skies they had come from. It was so embarrassing to have crashed that nice woman's house like that. Since then, Matthew had Ivan on lock down back in the afterlife. Upon returning, the pair was welcomed back by several other angels.

Apparently there was to be a party to celebrate the addition of two new angels. Ivan was still a wreck, mostly laying on the floor beside a puke bucket.

“Why does my brain hurt.” Ivan whimpered, shielding himself from sunlight coming in the windows.

“Because you drank two bottles of vodka.” Matthew explained as his finished dragging the massive boat anchor out of the bathroom. He wanted to keep his new place clean. It seemed all angels could have a dream home of their own if they proved worthy to serve the greater good. This place was a swanky Toronto apartment Matthew had once seen in a magazine. He had secretly wanted it for decades. Blues and steel tones with white leather and abstract art. Pure beauty.

“Angels should be immune to drunk. The bible says so.” Ivan continued to complain, rolling over.

“Did you ever read the bible?” Matthew countered.

“No. But Jesus had wine blood.” Ivan shot back, hiding in his own fluffy wings from the world.

“That's not... Okay then, mister wine blood. We need to get you cleaned up. There's a big welcoming party for us.” Matthew gave up on correcting his companion, offering a hand to get up.

Instead he was pulled to the floor and wrapped in cotton soft angel wings. “I had fun today.” Ivan purred, ready to pass out as he held Matthew close. The younger shivered at such contact and pressed closer to steal a kiss. Ivan gave one willingly, tasting sweet beneath the sting of alcohol.

“Okay, time to get up now.” Matthew announced, before he could succumb to more procrastinating affections.

“Nooo.” Ivan whined, as he was dragged into the large lavish bathroom. Dumped into a tub full of cold water, the man screeched a stream of Russian slurs and splashed like a drunk fish.

“I'm only doing this because I love you, Vanya.” Matthew promised.

“Demon!” Ivan hissed, clawing out of the tub to lay on the tiled floor. Every was sopping wet, including his wings. They sprayed water in every direction as Ivan flapped to dry and warm himself. After a few minutes of this, the large angel sat up.

“Done sulking?” Matthew asked, unimpressed with crossed arms.

“Yes.” Ivan huffed.

Matthew had honestly thought they would be late, but arriving arriving at the house stated on the invitation was a surprise. They appeared to be early despite a hungover Ivan taking a royal age to clean up. “Don't be so nervous.” Ivan assured, squeezing Matthew's hand. The smaller angel swallowed and nodded, finally approaching the building.

It was a stereotypical Mediterranean home, complete with blue and white adobe walls. The place was absolutely massive and rambling with multiple obvious entrances. A dozen angels were inside, lounging on comfy furniture with drinks. Others stood as they chatted on an impressive outdoor deck.

An angel partially clad in golden armour walked out to greet them. He was a tan fellow with gold dipped white wings. The feathery appendages almost had a faint sunlight glow to them, unlike Ivan's silvery white feathers.

“I'm so glad you could make it! Everyone is very excited to meet you.” The stranger greeted with an incredibly Spanish accent.

Ivan shook the offered hand, while Matthew was more reserved. Black wings ruffling in anxiety, the young adult asked “Who are you?”

“My apologies, I thought Romano would have said something. I'm Antonio. I used to be your guardian angel.” The radiant man replied calmly, shifting his conversation emphasis to Ivan.

“You messed up, because I was shot to death in an alleyway.” Ivan criticized immediately with the most indignant expression.

“That was your scheduled time. There was nothing I could do about that.” the glittering angel replied, his happy mood deflated slightly.

“Antonio! Where are you, you big piece of – Oh hello Ivan! Welcome to the party! You're early!” A reddish brown haired Italian sounding type greeted mid-insult.

Matthew couldn't help be smile at seeing the fiery tempered cupid. “Thank you so much for what you did.” he said joyously.

“No problem. It's what I do.” The pink winged man answered proudly.

“Who's this guy?” Ivan asked, looking bored already.

“This is the angel that set us up. He's... What's your name?”

The shorter Italian angel looked critically offended. “I'm Romano. I told your dead idiot here this three times.”

“He was busy being dead, and you're more of an idiot than he is. Leather shoes with off brand slacks? Really?” Ivan jumped to Matvey's defence immediately with a scowl.

“How dare you, you greasy over sized piece of shi – Mmph!” Romano's acidic response was muffled by Antonio's hand. “Let's go inside and party!” the golden tanned man suggested in a friendly tone. Romano walked inside in a huff, while the others followed.

The party was full of angels, music equally layered throughout the home. Blue wings, black wings, pink and whites. Some were banded like common song birds while others were glittering and bright. Still, Matthew couldn't relax. Ivan was hiding a deep sadness, something cold and unmovable since he had died. The Russian stubbornly wasn't talking about it, sulking with a drink in corner.

Something had to be done. Matthew wandered the large room with his delicious plate of snacks in hand. Tripping over someone's priestly robes, he crashed into a coffee table. The furniture broke into splinters, as if struck by a car.

The death metal angel that had brought Matthew's soul yelled “Rock on!” as two other black winged angels nodded in agreement and replied “We need some Slayer up in this joint.”

A stoic taller blond with glittering guardian angel wings pushed up his glasses. “Table needed to be better built.” he commented in a horrendous accent that was magically somehow understood.

The owner of the white priest robe Matthew tripped on took notice. It was a happier looking clone of Romano with lighter hair and a dazzling smile. “Oh I'm so sorry mister! Are you hurt?”

“Oh no, I'm fine. Is your robe ok?” Matthew replied.

“Let me help you up, its the least I can do!”

“Oh no I couldn't.”

“Oh but it would be terrible for you to sit on the floor like that.”

“I'm just fine. Please don't worry.”

“This is getting _totally_ ridiculous.” Another angel muttered, pulling Matthew up off the floor. It was another love angel, with TV commercial perfect hair.

“Thank you.” Matthew replied politely.

“I'm not getting sucked into this cycle.” the stranger retreated, resuming flirting outrageously with a flustered man staring at his drink.

“Do you need help?” the friendly Italian offered, seeing Matthew's frown.

“I do. Vanya is sad, and I don't know how to fix it.” Matthew replied easily. Ever since becoming an angel, he had found it nearly impossible to lie or hold back. “I'm sorry, I keep putting too much out there.”

“No it's fine! My name is Feliciano.” Feliciano greeted, shaking his hand. He was fluffy white wings just like Ivan, in simple priest wear of brilliant white.

“I want to help too. I am called Toris.” another man chimed in, the very same that was being flirted with mercilessly. The flustered man was a shy brunet with dull white wings, almost those of a grey bird.

“Isn't that the saddest thing ever.” A little girl in a mint green dress murmured, motioning to Ivan in his lonely corner.

With soft sounds of sympathy, All three headed over and piled on the surprised Ivan in a group hug. Suddenly dumped, the persistent love angel of before sighed. “That's an angel of mercy for you.”

“A what?” Matthew asked.

“Oh, you must be one of the new guys. I'm Felix, the most beautiful cupid here.” The pretty blond greeted with a small hair swish.

“What's all the wing colours mean?” Matthew asked, his crippling shyness from life all but banished.

Felix seemed more than pleased to educate Matthew, as egotistical as Romano had been. “It's like a system I guess. Plain white wings are angels of mercy. They like helping people or stirring things up. The shiny white and gold ones are guardian angels. They can be silver too, but most of them are gold. They guard a single person it's entire life, until it's fate is finished or the assignment commits some kind of suicide. Black ones are battle angels. They're angel thugs. They like... lift things, or save groups of people. I don't know, I don't get my hands dirty. Blue ones are inspiration angels. They deliver messages in dreams, or cure depression. Help artists create stuff, or leaders write speeches.”

With a proud fluff of soft pink feathers, Felix wore a cocky grin. “The best type of angels are pink ones like me. I am angel of love and companionship, known as a cupid. I rescue people from their boring lives.”

“The only thing you do is talk to much.” Romano argued hotly, emerging from the crowd. Matthew noticed the ill tempered angel had wings in a much more powerful shade of pink, like burning rose. It suited him.

The levels of competitiveness between cupids was interesting to watch for Matthew. He had assumed in life heaven would be a pearly perfect place, all smiles and clouds. It was far from the reality. Heaven was lively with parties and all types of personalities. The negative aspects had merely been softened or stripped away.

“... and I had three couples brought together this year, and you only did one.” Felix sneered mid argument. 

“Quantity is not equal to quality, you over privileged bastard. I made a ghost fall in love. A _ghost _. You can't beat that, and you never will!” Romano replied just as passionately.__

__“I don't mean to interrupt, but why are all the wings different shades of these colours?” Matthew interjected politely._ _

__The quarrelling cupids stopped bickering, Felix speaking up. “Well, the roles aren't hard and fast here. It's more like a sliding scale. See, I like helping people, but I like setting them up more. That makes my wings light pink, and ten times cuter. Romano here is a selfish prick that only cares about the set up, so his wings are an uglier hot pink.”_ _

__“You bitch! I'm only devoted to my job, which I'm way better at than you.” the angry Italian pointed out._ _

__“Now now girls, we're all pretty here.” A third cupid cooed, walking in. He was as glittery and colourful as his shiny pink wings, a smile as thick as his french accent._ _

__“Hello little cherry tomato.” Antonio greeted, walking over and hugging Romano from behind._ _

__“Fuck off! I'm trying to win.” the cupid huffed, not resisting._ _

__Ignoring this jagged display of affection, Felix turned back to Matthew. “Anyway, its rare anyone is just one role. Even your wings. They may be black, but you have white tips on the flight feathers. So you probably like helping people sometimes.”_ _

__“Oui, I was once a guardian angel. Now days, I prefer to dabble in the joy of love.” the third cupid replied, blowing Matthew a kiss teasingly._ _

__Being hit on all sides with flirting with cupids, Matthew began to retreat. Antonio easily filled the role. “But, am I the most shiny?” he prompted, gleaming with gold from wing tip to body armour._ _

__“The most shiny, and fabulous.” the french cupid replied._ _

__“Stop boosting his ego, it can already double as an air balloon.” Romano snarled._ _

__Finally escaping, Matthew returned to the corner sofa Ivan was ditched in last. Oh no, he was gone! Instead there was a black winged angel curled up with a book. His wings had a distinctive violet sheen, matching his dark purple kimono. The raven haired Asian looked up silently, watching Matthew with enigmatic brown eyes._ _

__“Excuse me, have you seen a tall angel of mercy? Silver speckled wings, very Russian?” Matthew asked._ _

__The silent one pointed to the back door, offering a bare beginning of a smile._ _

__“Thank you.” The wheaten blond softly answered, tossing in a bow before sprinting off._ _

__The back deck had a sprawling view of the pristine Mediterranean countryside, but this hardly interested Matthew. It wasn't home in any sense. It wasn't the Toronto concrete jungles of his youth, or the wheaten fields of Pennsylvania. Finally, the gaggle of happy angels was spotted by a large pool of water. Ivan was spell bound as he stared into the liquid._ _

__“Vanya, I lost you back there.” Matthew called out, walking over. Knowing how depressed Ivan had become in the past, it was paramount to keep track of him during his moody times._ _

__“Matvey.” Ivan muttered, finally tearing his gaze from eerily still waters. “Look.”_ _

__“What is it?” Matthew asked, peering over his companions shoulder. The reflection was not one of the angels above a pool. It was a clear picture of Nadia sitting in a crib, some random couple cooing and looking in. It was a warm scene, in a nicely decorated room flush with toys. It was leagues better than Ivan could have ever offered, in Matthews's quiet opinion._ _

__“She looks so happy and safe.” Ivan sniffled joyfully, wiping his eyes on a sleeve._ _

__“How did she get adopted so quickly? We just found her.” Matthew commented, gushing over the scene a little himself._ _

__“Angels take time to form, and you guys have been around a few weeks... So maybe eight months?” Feliciano rambled as he counted fingers off his hands._ _

__“That doesn't make sense.” Matthew commented, offering a relieved Ivan a handkerchief to dab his eyes. The Russian rapidly pulled himself together, then gave a small smile._ _

__“Time takes longer here. It is flexible, but we can only slow it down so much, and we can't go back. So... no do overs, even for us.” Feliciano clarified._ _

__“Then it is time to party. That's why we're here right?” Ivan replied, now dry eyed and happy. Giving Matthew a kiss on the cheek, he playfully added “Besides, I haven't even tried to steal any nice stuff yet.”_ _

__Before Matthew tore off after Ivan to prevent mischief, he spared one last glance at the fading image of Nadia that rippled in the water._ _

__“It's terrible when people die young like Ivan, but it wasn't for nothing.” Toris the nearly grey feathered angel commented quietly._ _

__“What did he die for?” Matthew asked, without anger or sorrow._ _

__“Ivan was the first link in the chain. This experience is going to shape that child into a female president. So far the odds of that happening are 78%, so destiny is definitely on track so far.” Toris motioned to the pool, which now displayed an impossible break down of statistics in relation to baby Nadia's progress. The other two angels of mercy ogled the myriad of running numbers, the youngest giggling and splashing the watery screen._ _

__“Then, I suppose his death had purpose. Thank you for telling me this.” Matthew replied pleasantly, shaking hands and departing. Matthew couldn't be happier, having an eternity to serve the greater good with Ivan at his side. Dreams really could come true._ _


End file.
